


i long to tell you (that i'm always thinking of you)

by arms_full_of_hyacinths



Series: like a sea around a shore [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crying, Drunken Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, I'm Not Crying My Eyes Are Just Nervous, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Oscar Wilde Watches In Despair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-10 13:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19504984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arms_full_of_hyacinths/pseuds/arms_full_of_hyacinths
Summary: Aziraphale knows how he feels about Crowley. For years, he’s kept silent, afraid to disturb the delicate balance they’ve created. Now he’s finally found the strength to open up... but Crowley can’t seem to hear him. Maybe it’s better if they just stay friends after all.Anyway, if Crowley felt the same way, Aziraphale would know. Wouldn’t he?





	i long to tell you (that i'm always thinking of you)

Crowley, Serpent of Eden, orchestrator of Original Sin, lay half-asleep with his head in the lap of Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate and totally lovestruck fool. He was spectacularly drunk. Aziraphale, an outlier in their recent string of nighttime binges at the bookshop, was painfully sober. He stared down at the demon resting against his legs. Crowley’s breathing had slowed, and the lines in his face evened out as if sleep was a ‘50s housewife running an iron over his forehead. It had been a long while since he’d looked so at peace. Over a decade driven by the search for the antichrist, their climactic battle, triumphing over the forces of heaven and hell, and still they returned to this. The back room of the bookshop as dusk settled over London.

Since they’d faced down Satan himself hand in hand, Aziraphale had been trying to muster up the courage to say something. He wasn’t sure exactly what. But after six thousand years, he felt that he should really make some effort to acknowledge their relationship, and to tell Crowley how much he appreciated… well, everything the demon had ever done for him.

“Crowley?” he whispered, running his pointer finger over the curve of the demon’s ear. He didn’t usually allow himself the luxury of touching the demon. In fact, it astonished him that Crowley had let him get so close. [1]

[1] Coming right up to the end of the world and standing alone in the burned shell of what used to be something like home will do that to a person. Or to a demon.

Humming, Crowley tilted his face up into Aziraphale’s palm, nuzzling his nose against the angel’s wrist. The contact sent a bolt of warmth twisting through his veins. “You do know I’m terribly fond of you, don’t you?” Aziraphale’s words hung in the air between them, and he fought the urge to shove them back down, brush over them like a dust mote on the spine of a first edition. It would be easy to gloss over.

Crowley chuckled, rich and deep. The sleepy sound reverberated through his whole chest. Aziraphale could feel it in his legs. “Yeah, ‘course. Who else’d put up wi’ you?” Within seconds, he was asleep. 

Stars circled overhead, watching over them through the bookshop windows, and Aziraphale kept tracing his fingers over Crowley’s face until the bar down the road shunted out its last customer. He couldn’t really explain why, but part of him felt like letting the demon spend the night in the shop would be making a statement he wasn’t quite ready to make. “Closing time,” Aziraphale said as he shepherded a muddled Crowley out into the Bentley. It almost hurt how badly he wanted the demon to stay.

***

They fell quite easily into a routine. Every day, without fail, Crowley would arrive at the shop unannounced. They’d go for a drive, or walk through the park, or visit a new cafe. Most nights they ate dinner together. After dinner, they’d take the Bentley back to the bookshop, and they’d drink until Crowley remembered he owned a flat. Then he’d mutter something about giving his plants what-for and leave Aziraphale to his books. It should have been comfortable and familiar, but Aziraphale found himself increasingly on edge in a way he’d never been around the demon before. The angel had been pining after his best friend since 1941, and unconsciously head over heels for him for much longer, but he couldn’t shake the sense that they were balanced on the edge of something.

One night, engaged in a rousing discussion of seventeenth-century literature, Aziraphale let slip that he had fancied himself something of a writer back in the 19th century. “Just dabbling, you understand.”

Even through his sunglasses, Aziraphale could sense the glee radiating off of Crowley. “Were you any good?”

“Well, I’ve had plenty of time to hone my craft. And I do believe reading is the best way to develop one’s voice as a writer. So yes, I think I’m rather good.”

Falling into a mocking swoon over the couch arm, Crowley raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Come off it, angel. You must be real bloody eloquent. Sssilver tongue an’ all.”

“W-well, no need to poke fun,” Aziraphale huffed. “I’ll have you know I can be quite the wordsmith when I feel the urge.”

“Well?” Crowley propped himself up on one arm and slid a fist under his chin.

Mildly embarrassed by the sudden attention, Aziraphale fiddled with his tie. “Well, what?”

“Go on then. Let’s hear some of that massster smithing.”

Straightening up into his most proper I-am-above-this-and-you form [2], Aziraphale sniffed disdainfully. “Perhaps I just don’t feel the urge.”

[2] It had been so de-rigueur in heaven that his corporation’s spine had originally been stuck that way. Life on earth had settled him into something a little more slouchy.

“Let me urge you, angel.” A light blush heated Aziraphale’s cheeks, and he hid his discomfort with a sip of wine. “What inssspires you? Music, a tasssteful nude, mood lighting?” The angel spat out the wine.

Coughing into the glass, he turned away to avoid Crowley’s quiet laughter. “I’m quite all right, thank you. But, erm, let me see.”

The demon stretched his arms out across the couch and closed his eyes. “We’ve got all the time in the world, angel.”

And they did. Aziraphale appreciated that, the simple fact that he didn’t have to rush anything with Crowley. There would always be time. Well. There would be quite a lot of time, at least. The first realization that washed over him after the antichrist’s birth-- and the worst one, really-- was that his time on earth with Crowley might be coming to an end.

Aziraphale chose his words carefully. He meant them, of course, but didn’t want to scare the demon off. “Eternity would be a curse if I couldn’t spend it with you by my side.”

Crowley tensed.“Yeah, well.” He ran a hand over the fabric of the couch, and for a moment, Aziraphale could almost see flames reflected in the frames of his glasses, licking at the pages of rare books. “I’ll be right here.”

***

Crowley lay sprawled against the couch across from him, all long limbs and self-satisfied smiles. Aziraphale stared pensively into his empty glass. Dark dregs of a 2016 California Petite Sirah pooled at the bottom as he swirled it. “All I’m saying, dear boy, is that, well. You know.”

When the demon stretched, melting into the couch like a pat of butter on a scorching hob, Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut. A small troupe of butterflies executed an acrobatic maneuver in his stomach. “Queen. You were goin’ to say something about Queen, angel, an’ if you could just get on with it and pour me another glass tha’d be fantassstic.” 

Aziraphale knew he’d been skirting the question. If he’d gone on long enough to frustrate Crowley, who usually let him ramble endlessly [3], it was about time he got to the point. “Of course! Thank you, very kind of you to remind me.” The demon grimaced quite endearingly, but didn’t take the bait-- another of Crowley’s small kindnesses. “What I was trying to say is, well.”

[3] Good G-- erm, Someone, Crowley always seemed to be indulging him in one way or another, didn’t he? Aziraphale really wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve such an understanding... friend. Friend, that was all. Right.

“Yesss?” 

The angel found himself momentarily distracted by Crowley’s hiss. He knew it bothered the demon, a constant reminder that he couldn’t seem to control, but Aziraphale loved it. It was just so uniquely Crowley. “Only, my dear, that I’m surprised you’re such a fan of this particular brand of bebop-- Queen, yes, I know-- when you’re really the last person I’d expect to go for all that love song business.” Then he drained his glass. [4]

[4] Aziraphale wasn’t used to chugging anything at all, tending generally towards savoring every bite of food or sip of drink with the covetous enjoyment of a dragon lolling across a massive pile of gold. He gagged.

Crowley sputtered, and Aziraphale raised a hand in case he had to reach out and thump his back or miracle away his throat. “Yeah, well, no, but— I mean, Mercury wasss a genius, you know.”

Eyebrows raised, Aziraphale sloshed some more wine into his glass and waited.

“Tempting!” The demon almost shouted. “Yesss, nothing like romance to get humans really in the mood for some good ol’ fashioned horizontal mambo.”

The idea of Crowley luring an unsuspecting human to his bed put Aziraphale’s stomach in knots. It wasn’t moral! That was exactly the kind of wiling he was meant to thwart, and it just made him uncomfortable for Crowley to bring it up. [5] “I see.”

[5] The mental image of hooded yellow eyes and bare skin that popped into his head did something different to Aziraphale’s stomach, and he wondered if maybe he should cut back on the wine.

“Y’know, romance and all that, s’just a path to lust. Tha’sss all. So I’m an expert.” Crowley grinned up at him, looking rather proud.

Aziraphale’s heart executed a clumsy but well-meaning somersault. He covered up his emotional gymnastics with an incredulous huff. “An expert in the field of romance? Really, dear boy.”

“‘Course I am.” Crowley scowled, looking for all the world like a child on time-out. “I can be ssso romantic you wouldn’t believe. Look, I’ll— I’ll prove it.”

“What on earth are you planning to do, seduce some poor human wandering the streets alone?” Aziraphale snapped, the very suggestion sending his worried fingers into a flurry of useless fidgets.

“Nuh. I’m jus’— I’ll jus’ say something’ romantic.”

“Well, go on then.” Aziraphale did his best not to sound desperate. “Impress me.” 

The demon leaned forward, scrutinizing Aziraphale intently. He tugged self-consciously at the hem of his jumper. He felt very exposed, laid bare by Crowley’s observation. [6] He knew his mortal form wasn’t exactly conventionally attractive. Unlike Crowley, who seemed to keep effortless pace with the hottest styles and was fiendishly handsome by any metric, Aziraphale really felt quite plain. He loved his comfortable slouchy clothes and mess of white hair. It wasn’t that he intended to change anything about himself, just that being stared down like that didn’t do his confidence any favors.

[6] And _that_ conjured up some interesting thoughts, which did nothing at all to help the angel’s embarrassment.

“Wouldn’t trade you for all the stars in the sssky,” Crowley murmured, and was that a blush creeping up his neck?

Aziraphale couldn’t help laughing, even as his heart pounded a mile a minute, and he couldn’t help wondering whether Crowley ever thought those kinds of things when he wasn’t drunk, and oh, he really had asked for it, hadn’t he. “Not even alpha centauri, eh?” He prayed Crowley couldn’t hear the fragile, pleasing tone his voice had taken on, or at least would have the decency to play it off as comedy.

“Not even that.”

***

A few days later, Crowley stopped by to pick him up for dinner at the Ritz, and Aziraphale almost dropped a book [7] when he breezed through the door. He wore a charcoal grey three-piece suit, and he looked absolutely stunning. The usual pair of sunglasses had been swapped out for silver-rimmed frames. His tie was emblazoned with an army of tiny snakes.

[7] He had to delay greeting Crowley for a moment as he apologized to it, caressed its spine, and slotted it carefully back onto a shelf.

Fumbling for his own bowtie, Aziraphale was supremely conscious of how very inadequate his outfit was in comparison. He mumbled something to Crowley about not wanting to feel underdressed and began searching the bookshop for something more suitable. He could simply miracle it into existence, of course, but he’d always had a fondness for the solidity and craftsmanship of real clothing.

“I dressed up for you,” Crowley drawled, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to say. “No need to get in a tiff over it.”

The train of thought running through Aziraphale’s mind shuddered to a stop. “Well. You know, dear boy, there’s really no need.” Busying himself with the search for a new tie, he tried to look nonplussed. The demon was probably trying to provoke a reaction, and he didn’t feel much like being made fun of. He let his mouth continue to talk without his oversight. Crowley was suddenly standing in front of him, eye to eye. He so rarely took his glasses off, even when they were alone. Aziraphale could have fallen right into them.

“Listen,” Crowley said, rough voice laden with something like panic. “This might be a bit sudden, but I need you to know. I care about you.”

It was a very good thing that Aziraphale didn’t have to breathe to continue to live, because the air rushed out of his lungs. He wasn’t sure why Crowley had chosen that particular moment to recognize their friendship, but he certainly appreciated the sentiment, though he couldn’t help but wish that-- oh, what was he thinking? It was amazing enough that Crowley would admit to caring about him in the slightest. 

“Oh, Crowley! The feeling is mutual.” He turned back to the drawer without really seeing its contents. Of course he wasn’t really disappointed. He just didn’t want Crowley to read the conflicted emotions on his face.

“No, I... ugh. Yeah. Come out when you’re ready.” Crowley sauntered out to the Bentley, leaving Aziraphale even more confused. Had Crowley been joking? It seemed like a rather flat punchline. Likely the demon was just feeling little sensitive, having opened up in a way he generally wouldn’t dream of.

On the bright side, Aziraphale managed to hold himself together just fine all through dinner. [8] It wasn’t until Crowley finally left the shop that evening that he let his head fall heavy onto the arm of the couch. Why couldn’t he just be happy with the wonderful friendship they already shared? It wasn’t fair of him to expect so much from anyone, least of all from a demon.

[8] Even when Crowley ate food right off his fork in a frankly indecent manner.

***

The next week, they met for a walk in the park. Aziraphale picked up a loaf of bread at the bakery down the street. He stood in front of the mirror for an hour, prodding his hair this way and that, wondering whether he should dress up for the park like Crowley had for dinner. Eventually, he decided that he didn’t want to risk making the demon uncomfortable. Things had felt tenuous between them lately, as if they were playing two different games of cards and neither was sure how the other planned to win.

When they settled onto their familiar bench, he made sure not to sit too close. Ducks paddled over en masse. He tried to corral his racing thoughts by executing the cleanest possible arcs with each tossed fragment of crust.

“You know,” Crowley suddenly interrupted, “they cast me out of Heaven as punishment.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to say to that. Did Crowley want to talk more about their experience with the Apocaloopsy-daisy? “I truly don’t think they meant it to be a nice surprise,” he replied, which felt noncommittal enough.

“Hush up. Anyway. It was supposed to be the worst thing that could happen to me, being banished to Hell. And then I got sent up here. I’ve spent the past six thousand years here, with you.” Aziraphale found himself nodding along. “And they’ve been— ah, well. Could have been a bit more productive in terms of furthering hell’s agenda. But I never had quite as much fun in Heaven, you know?”

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale couldn’t smother the massive grin blossoming on his face, “it’s been rather nice company for me too.” Crowley had really upped his quota of touching moments. Perhaps he was trying to establish a new rapport, recognize more often the friendship they clearly both realized could have ended in a blaze of hellfire.

The demon fidgeted beside him. “Erm, yeah. So that’s that.” 

It must be difficult for Crowley to say such kind things without adding an edge of sarcasm, Aziraphale realized, and as much as he appreciated it, he also thought it was probably best not to push his luck. “Sun should be setting pretty soon, my dear. Shall we pack up?” Maybe back at the bookshop, with a few glasses of wine in him, Crowley would be comfortable letting Aziraphale return the affectionate words.

Crowley made a sound in the back of his throat halfway between a growl and a sigh. “Come on, angel! Really listen to me for once in your life. Please.” 

“Is something the matter?” Aziraphale asked, lost. He _had_ been listening! What more did Crowley want from him?

“I— you--” the demon stammered. “I adore you, okay?”

If Aziraphale hadn’t been a proper, composed gentleman, and an angel to boot, he would have squealed. Metaphorical steam poured out of his ears. The tiny angel that stood on his shoulder and counseled him to keep everything in check wrapped its tiny arms around its knees and cannonballed into St James’s Park Lake. 

Crowley continued as the tiny angel swam off towards its new life on Duck Island: “I’m enchanted by you. Clearly, I’ve gone bloody soft for you. You’re everything to me.” Aziraphale tried to catch his eyes, but Crowley was staring off at the opposite bank. “I keep trying to tell you, and every time it’s like you already know, but nothing ever changes, and I just—”

Aziraphale reached out. Carefully, as if Crowley was a bubble that might shimmer and pop at any moment, he rested his palm on the demon’s cheek. Crowley-- his best friend, his constant companion, and the most beautiful being he’d ever encountered-- turned to look at him. They breathed each other’s air. In one sure move, Aziraphale slipped off Crowley’s sunglasses. This, he was sure, was the kind of thing best said without any barriers. The demon’s gorgeous yellow eyes sparkled in the late afternoon sun. “My dear boy,” Aziraphale whispered, trying to convey the whole contents of his heart. “My dearest. My— oh, the most dear thing in the universe, truly.”

A tear dripped down Crowley’s cheek to meet Aziraphale’s hand. Even crying, the demon was unfairly handsome. Aziraphale found himself wanting very badly to kiss away every tear Crowley shed from that moment onward. “I love you, Crowley,” he murmured. “I’ve loved you for decades now. Centuries.”

The demon leaned forward and rested his face against Aziraphale’s neck. The angel could feel tears against his shoulder, and he embraced Crowley, burying his face in the shock of red hair. “Since the beginning. Six thousand years,” Crowley confessed, and Aziraphale’s heart _ached_. He’d been trailing behind all along. “You gave them your sword. Stupid, beautiful angel. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

_I didn’t know what to call it then,_ Aziraphale wanted to say. _From the moment I saw you, I knew you were different. I spent the very first storm by your side and I never wanted you to leave, and you haven’t, and that’s the greatest blessing anyone’s ever given me_. Instead, he played with the demon’s hair, tugging him closer with the other arm. “Oh, _dearest_. I’m sorry it took me so long to catch up.”

Crowley hiccuped softly into his shoulder. “I waited six thousand years. I would’ve kept waiting as long as you wanted.”

Through decades of self-pitying longing, Aziraphale had never really thought about what it could have been for him, if he’d known from the very beginning what he wanted. The ache that burned in his chest eating him from the inside out as millennia passed them by. He knew better than anyone else what Crowley was admitting when he said that he would have waited for him, because he’d already made him wait far too long. With one hand, Aziraphale tilted Crowley’s face up to his. “No more waiting, I think.” He kissed Crowley with everything he had.

He’d kissed people before, obviously. On the cheek, forehead, even the lips as a greeting or a benediction. But he’d never kissed Crowley. It was soft, and a little wet with tears, and absolutely perfect. Crowley whimpered. A hand reached up to grab at Aziraphale’s jumper, and his demon pressed back into the kiss with the kind of longing only six thousand years of waiting [9] can conjure.

[9] Or a beautiful Arabian pony, if one is about ten years old and one’s parents refuse to buy even a Dog-sized kind of pet.

“Yeah,” Crowley chuckled against Aziraphale’s mouth. “Bugger waiting.” His smile left Aziraphale starstruck.

“Language, Crowley.” He kissed the corner of that gorgeous smile. “We’ve got quite a lot of time spent waiting to make up for, eh?” 

The soft gasp his demon let out was too adorable for words. Aziraphale cupped his handsome face in his hands, thinking of all the kisses he had yet to rain down on it.

“I love you, my dearest,” he said again, because it was worth repeating.

Crowley looked at him with an eternity’s worth of love glittering in his eyes. “And I you, angel.” When they kissed, it felt like a new beginning. Aziraphale would have been content to stay like that, just like that, forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Title stolen shamelessly (and directly) from Cat Stevens, characters stolen a little shamefully from the astounding Neil Gaiman. Couldn’t resist writing Aziraphale’s side of the story, and the super sweet comments I got on my first Good Omens fic definitely helped! Speaking of comments, I dry kudos and comments into jerky and take them on my harrowing expeditions through the arctic.


End file.
